There’s no denying that Taylor Sheridan has swiftly become one of the television industry’s most prolific and sought-after names. Ever since Yellowstone premiered in 2018 and evolved from a Paramount+ sleeper hit into a cultural juggernaut, the actor-turned-screenwriter has produced hit after veritable hit, including (but not limited to) Mayor of Kingstown, Tulsa King, Special Ops: Lioness, and two Yellowstone spin-offs. There’s also no denying that Sheridan’s content has tapped into a hungry cultural vein — be it his neo-Western niche, his focus on less-prestigious locations (by Hollywood standards), or his morally gray characters and their socio-politically conservative leanings.

On the surface, Sheridan’s latest Paramount+ drama, Landman, seems like an ideal meeting of concept and creator. For one, Landman is based on Boomtown, a 2019 non-fiction podcast dissecting Texas’s modern-day oil boom through interviews with the employees on the ground and the oil barons ruling their kingdoms with an iron fist. Co-created by Sheridan and Boomtown host Christian Wallace, Landman’s core ethos concerns this same dichotomous intersection between the elite business titans who commandeer limited resources and the working-class individuals crushed beneath the boot of privilege, whose blood, sweat, and tears ensure the rich just get richer. But despite Landman’s potential, Sheridan’s biggest recurring limitations run roughshod over his strengths. This fictional dramatization of a contentious real-world dilemma, not to mention its profoundly relevant ramifications, erases virtually all substance and nuance from the crucial conversation — while also making bizarrely nonsensical choices in other areas.

What Is Taylor Sheridan’s ‘Landman’ About?

When we first meet Tommy Norris (Billy Bob Thornton), he’s bound to a chair with a bag over his head and minutes away from death-via-murder. His boss, oil baron Monty Miller (Jon Hamm), aims to build an oil rig on a patch of West Texas land and dispatches Norris to secure a lease from a Mexican cartel leader. Norris survives by the skin of his teeth, and as soon as he returns to his trunk and downs two beers back-to-back, it’s clear that high-stress situations are a dime a dozen for him. As a crude oil crisis manager, he oversees production flow, avoids bad press and legal reprisal, and keeps the employees obedient and the golf-playing billionaires happy. Without getting into spoiler territory, Landman’s driving action concerns a tragic accident and its aftermath, with Norris navigating a high-wire act of litigation, backstabbing, and scapegoating.

You wouldn’t be misguided in finding those details a depressingly apt reflection of America’s status quo. When the aforementioned cartel leader calls the oil industry a “strange business,” Norris responds, “You sell a product that your customers are dependent on. It’s the same. Ours is just bigger.” In this case, “bigger” equates to “three billion dollars a day in pure profit,” little of which transmutes into Norris’ bank account (and barely a dime extends to the exploited workers risking their lives in situations more dangerous than Norris could dream of). Despite being an important cog in the machine, Norris is just that — a cog designed to line the pockets of the one-percenters. If he ever believed in the so-called American dream, reality has squashed that optimism into resigned cynicism. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Norris’ personal life is also in shambles. He shares a tempestuous relationship with his ex-wife, Angela (Ali Larter), and their estranged son, Cooper (Jacob Lofland). Only their daughter, Ainsley (Michelle Randolph), is content to skip through life with blithe ignorance.

‘Landman’ Glosses Over Complex Topics and Ignores Its Most Interesting Characters
Image via Paramount+

The problems arise when Landman’s ambitious scope fails to thread all the necessary needles. The series never truly grapples with the interconnected ecosystem it’s trying to depict. The narrative infrastructure rests upon wealth inequality and racism while barely scratching the surface with legitimate or thought-provoking insight. When it comes to how the oil regime has reinforced structural oppression of the most vulnerable and irrevocably contributed to our rapidly declining planet, at best, Landman namechecks these topics while using their existence for atmosphere.

A large part of this boils down to how Sheridan filters this intersectional story, rather predictably, through Norris: an average white man who never achieved greatness but gets by enough to keep actively contributing to our ecosystem’s decline. Although cis-heteronormativity is a tired lens for any project, Landman isn’t even a compelling deconstruction of morally abject corruption, like Succession or The Sopranos; based on the five episodes provided for review, the characters are too one-dimensional to climb that hill, and the flashes of promising tension are rendered ineffective by how often we’ve seen this same blasé template repeated.

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Ironically but unsurprisingly, the people with the best stories to tell contribute little to nothing while simultaneously offering the most compelling highlights: that being the rig’s underpaid workforce, the vast majority of whom are of Mexican heritage. The men provide for their families through one of the only viable jobs open to them, and they love a good beer at the end of an arduously long day; meanwhile, their wives, sisters, and other women relatives hold down the domestic fort alone — and if tragedy befalls their beloved husbands, brothers, cousins, and nephews, these women are thrust into breadwinning positions with even fewer options and greater socioeconomic injustices. It’s an almost identical case to Wind River. Just because Sheridan includes people of color in key supporting roles rather than excluding them (and with what might very well be legitimate empathy), it doesn’t make him the best voice for the job, especially since Landman’s attempted intersectionality still centers white men and women.

‘Landman’ Misses the Mark With Its Female Characters

Sheridan’s other questionable track record, that of writing women characters, has perhaps never been more ill-conceived and ill-executed than here. From the drive-thru barista to the Norris women, almost every female character is a walking stereotype: superficial and overtly sexualized, with empty air where their brains should be. Certainly, Angela and Ainsley being cut from the same privileged cloth is far from inaccurate. But their limited characterizations feel spitefully sexist instead of a wise indictment of how many white women prioritize their own luxury and success at others’ expense.

Time that could be spent building up character revelations instead opts for deeply unhumorous comedy surrounding Norris’ sixty-something male coworker — and the camera — ogling Ainsley’s barely-clothed and barely-legal body. Landman’s pacing even suffers because of this, with multiple episodes spending a baffling amount of time on subplots playing up mother and daughter’s antics. The series is an especially egregious waste of Ali Larter and Demi Moore, with the latter possessing so little screentime that her presence hardly registers.

As a result, Landman’s handful of girlboss moments from lawyer Rebecca Savage (Kayla Wallace) ring hollow. Because she’s a naive, out-of-touch liberal from the East Coast, Norris thrives on taking Rebecca’s idealism down a peg and educating her about how the world really works. There’s truth to that concept, but not when it’s an older white man reeking of condescension — and it’s difficult to give Sheridan grace given his faulty track record with Sicario and Wind River’s leading women. When Rebecca does flex her competence, it’s too similar to a “not like other girls” situation, where the professional brunette is superior compared to those hot, dumb, skin-showing blondes. As for Ariana (Paulina Chavez), a Mexican woman who’s easily the most compelling character, she hasn’t had enough time to develop outside of her restricted interactions with Norris’ son.

‘Landman’s Ambition Can’t Match the Nuance Its Story Needs
Image via Paramount+

Whether Landman’s back half successfully develops its unutilized potential remains to be seen. Unfortunately, the course Sheridan has charted doesn’t incur optimism. His past weaknesses overwhelm the material, to Landman’s detriment, and in our current political climate, that’s too vital an issue to dismiss. Just because Sheridan’s shining what could be a well-intentioned light on intersectional matters doesn’t make that light a bonfire — and more hits than misses don’t successfully come together for a compelling drama.

Landman premieres November 17 on Paramount+, with new episodes streaming weekly on Sundays.

A promising concept and all-star cast can’t rise above Landman’s insubstantial drama and confusing choices.ProsThe cast offers excellent performances despite their characters’ subpar characterization.The cinematography captures an effective neo-Western atmosphere. ConsTaylor Sheridan’s scripts don’t approach the series’ complex issues with appropriate nuance.Even though they have the most narrative potential, the characters of color are sidelined in favor of the white leads.The female characters are either overtly sexualized stereotypes or have their competency undercut by the men.

In the rugged terrain of West Texas, a team of landmen work to secure oil and gas leases, acting as intermediaries between landowners and energy corporations. The narrative centers on a driven landman whose ambitions in the energy sector lead him into complex negotiations and moral quandaries. The show explores the intense competition and the far-reaching consequences of the landmen’s deals, highlighting the intersection of personal ambition and the broader effects on the community and the natural world.Seasons 1 Where To Watch Paramount+

Watch on Paramount+